


The Smoking Room

by cuddlesome



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Cigarettes, Comfort Eating, During Canon, Gen, Nail Biting, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garry indulges in one of his many habits as he waits for Ib to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smoking Room

Ib remained generally calm about most everything, showing only the smallest hints of fear at moments where Garry was in full panic mode, up until the moment that she fainted, in which case she didn't have much choice but to remain entirely stoic.

There wasn't anything extraordinary about the hallway, aside from the distinct lack of living artwork, something Garry counted as a blessing. The only unsettling factor consisted of a wall lined with one of Guertena's trademark continuous series: a chalk white face adorned each one, expressions contorting into smiles split wide and eventually red swaths of paint sliding down the cheeks with a semblance far too close to blood.

Reminded of the mannequin head from before, Garry bit his lower lip and glanced at his right shoulder to assure himself nothing was there. There wasn't, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't continue entertaining thoughts of it returning. If something like that showed up again he planned on smashing it to bits for sure, whether Ib objected or not.

Ib started to slow about midway through the hall. The moment she stopped Garry also paused to catch his breath.

"We sure showed them!" he wheezed, hunched over and grinning as he took a good look at the doorway they'd come from to make sure he didn't speak empty words of victory. None of the crazed ladies or statues appeared to have followed. "Right, Ib?"

When she didn't answer, he turned back to her, just in time to see her fall to her knees.

"Ib..? Ib!"

She collapsed, eliciting a gasp from Garry.

"Oh, goodness, what's the matter?" he rushed forward and crouched to touch her shoulder, again receiving no response.

Ib hung limp when he picked her up, almost like a doll, almost like she was dea--no. Garry shook his head and suppressed a shudder. Garry put the back of his hand in front of her nose and mouth, relieved when he could feel her breath against his skin. Though the reason for her sudden fainting spell still wasn't apparent, Garry took comfort in the fact that she didn't seem physically hurt. Probably just exhausted. Besides, her rose remained all in one piece, she would be all right.

He had grown fond of Ib in their short time together. With that fondness came a sense of responsibility and the need to keep her as safe as he could.

Not wanting her neck to become cramped, slackly hanging as her head was, Garry adjusted Ib so that her head rested in the crook of his arm before setting off. It occurred to him that if her parents knew a near stranger was carrying their daughter with such familiarity they'd probably be upset with both him and Ib. Even taking his friendly attitude toward her into account, it was a wonder she didn't feel the least bit frightened by the prospect of his companionship. Garry knew very well that he was what most people described as odd, if not an adjective more colorful and far less friendly.

He couldn't say he entirely blamed the general public for being put off by him. Each and every article of clothing he owned smelled like cheap cigarettes no matter how many times he washed them, he felt convinced the world would come to an end if he ever stopped combing his bangs over half of his face in the name of fashion, and nine times out of ten his traditionally feminine speech patterns earned him confused stares.

Then again, Ib didn't so much as bat an eye in situations that left Garry screeching and flailing. Maybe she was a little odd in her own little way, too.

At the end of the hall Garry saw a door. No telling if it led to an individual room or an entire other hallway without giving it a look. Shifting Ib so as to not have any part of her body hit the door frame, he reached out and turned the handle. He half expected one of the Ladies to jump out at him and steal Ib away as easily as one of them had taken his rose. Thankfully for his sanity they didn't. There didn't appear to be any moving artwork inside, for that matter, nor anything that gave the impression it would come to life any time soon. The single unfinished looking painting labeled "Untitled" didn't pose much of a threat--it appeared Guertena had smeared random gouts of paint across a canvas with no direction or reason.

Was it... titled "Untitled" or was there no title..? Garry chewed his lip in thought.

He rounded a set of bookshelves, then lay Ib down in a corner. After a moment of contemplation, he took off his jacket. His arms got goosebumps at the sudden change of temperature, prickling like so many thorns. Garry ignored the discomfort in favor of concentrating on draping the coat over Ib as fully as he could. He smiled as she nuzzled the collar, surprised that she didn't cough, or at the very least shy away from the stench of cigarettes that had gathered in the worn fabric.

Incidentally, he thought a cigarette would be really, really nice right about then.

A pack of Marlboros, slightly squashed from when he'd fallen down after the theft of his rose, was in the right front pocket of his pants. Only two left. He had planned on buying another pack once he finished looking at the renowned Guertena exhibit... it figured.

Garry felt a sliver of guilt nudge his mind when he extracted it and pushed the end of a cigarette between his lips. Giving young children secondhand smoke made him feel bad at the best of times, but when they couldn't object to his habit, much less move away, as was the case with Ib, he felt horrible.

Just this once. She'd be fine.

Even with that thought in mind, Garry's guilt only grew more prominent when he dug into one of his jacket pockets, still covering Ib's unconscious body, for the familiar cold metal of his lighter. Instead he pricked his fingers on one of the thorns on his rose.

Garry retracted his hand with a badly stifled yelp, then reached into the other pocket. As per usual, he found the lighter buried underneath a collection of empty candy wrappers. He carried around all sorts of fragrant candy in the deep pockets of his coat to use to both ward off the bad breath that came with frequent smoking and something to substitute for cigarettes should he run out. As he sifted through the wrappers he found a hard lemon candy he hadn't eaten yet. He removed the empty wrappers but let that one stay; he would give it to Ib when she woke up. Despite the crinkling noises of plastic and foil, Ib didn't stir other than to furrow her brow and make a quiet noise of discontent before relaxing again.

He stood up with the lighter in hand. From there each motion was out of habit, programmed into Garry's system, though his movements were stiffer then usual. Even after he flicked his thumb and the flame jumped to life he hesitated. He shut the lighter, producing a sharp metallic click, and walked to the opposite side of one of the bookshelves. He checked between an opening between the worn novels to make sure she hadn't woken up.

As the representative responsible adult for the time being, he didn't want to be caught smoking and thus setting a bad example for the little girl under his care. Again the thought of her parents disapproving of Garry being her companion occurred to him.

"Don't ever do this, okay, Ib? It's a really gross habit." He murmured out of the side of his mouth  around the cigarette before finally lighting it.

Well, come to think of it, most of his habits were really gross, weren't they..?

Garry shut his eyes and inhaled. Bliss. Smoking didn't give him that same giddy head rush as it did when he first started, but calmed him down instead, which, in this situation, was more than he could ask for. Having at least some trace of calming familiarity in this strange place gave him relief.

After checking for any unsavory works of art outside, opened the door to the hallway a bit to allow the room to air out as he continued to smoke. He let the ashes fall at random after deciding he didn't have an ounce of respect left in him for the museum. A bit of mean gladness welled up in him as the ashes fell across the otherwise spotless carpet in peppery speckles. Almost made up for him not shattering the mannequin head that had startled him earlier. Why did Ib stop him..? The museum had nothing but harm them and scare the living hell out of them. Or, well, scare the living hell out of Garry, anyway.

Still, he didn't have enough pent up anger left in him to do something really stupid like, say, set fire to one of the bookcases. He may have been compulsive, but he wasn't quite that easy to stir into destructive action. Particularly not when his irritability was curbed by a cigarette.

Garry peeked over at where Ib was again. Still completely out, slumped over the slightest bit, one cheek resting against the collar of his jacket. Again he was reminded of a doll if not for the telltale rise and fall of her chest that signified her breathing.

He was almost finished with the cigarette and didn't want to pull out the remaining one just yet. Better to save it. Still, he wanted to find something to distract him long before he started itching to smoke again. The thought of Ib watching him do so made his stomach twist.

There of course wasn't anywhere around where Garry could purchase sweets to snack on--oh, what he wouldn't do for even one macron--which ruined his usual solution to running out of cigarettes. He had also already bitten his fingernails and cuticles down to ragged, angry pink shreds and picked off all of his nail polish earlier that day instead of satisfying his craving for a cigarette. He got looks, just like always. It still beat the wide berth and scowls that he received whenever he loitered outside of public buildings to smoke. He considered the last ditch option of fiddling with his lighter, but the risk of accidentally setting something on fire scared him far too much for him to go through with it.

Which left looking around the room again to occupy him.

Garry gave the smallish space a cursory glance as he ground the cigarette butt against the floor with the heel of his shoe. Aside from "Untitled", a flower vase empty of flowers but filled halfway with water, a foreboding set of rules in the corner opposite to Ib, and the bookcases occupied the space. Ever so briefly he contemplated drinking out of the vase to get the taste of tobacco off of his teeth before he thought better of it and went to the bookshelves.

He slid his fingertips across the book spines closest to him, half expecting to break into a coughing fit between the consequential dust he stirred up and the residue of smoke stuck to the inside of his windpipe. If there was any filth on the books, it wasn't enough to cause Garry to choke. He picked out a thick novel at random. As he figured, it was penned by Guertena. An extremely wordy title took up the majority of space on the cover, accompanied by a backdrop of one of Guertena's works. Garry tucked a portion of his thick fringe behind one ear--no need to further damage his eyesight for the sake of something as silly as reading--bemoaning that he hadn't worn any barrettes that day. 

Most of the time Garry wouldn't call himself the most avid reader; books could only hold his interest for so long. He only planned on reading a few paragraphs, and then attempting to find something else to do ("something else" probably would consist of breaking down and smoking his last cigarette, if he was entirely honest with himself). It said something about Guertena as an author, then, that Garry not only didn't lose interest, but found himself sucked in. He stood rooted to the spot in front of the bookshelves, taking in the somber, poetic words of the artist.

Only when Ib woke up did Garry snap out of his reverie.

"Ib!"

He brushed his hair back into place as he went to the corner and kneeled in front of her. His happiness at her awakening was rivaled only by his relief that the scent of cigarette smoke had almost entirely disappeared from the room.


End file.
